I have retreated into the walls of Santino’s house like a ghost. There are no paparazzi here; the gates are high, the security is elite, and the world feels miles away. But inside the house, the air feels charged. Santino is still away, and without his presence to ground me, I have drifted into a darker place.

I wake up early, the sun barely peeking through the heavy curtains. As I try to sit up, a sudden, rolling wave of nausea hits me. I lie back down, closing my eyes tight. My stomach ...